The Night of the Soul's Window
by the lurker
Summary: It's an experimental, moody ditty. Very short, written in first person. Artie and Jim on the train....


The Wild, Wild West  
The Night of Soul's Window  
by the lurker  
  
_Melancholy._ I've never learned to control its influence over me. I hate it, and I love it. I would not be who I am without it; and yet, it plagues me. When my eyes open at dawn, my mind, free of the constraint of a day's work, fills with the doubts and fears of a lifetime: I welcome it like an old friend. Then comes the familiar dull ache in my chest that tugs at my heart with the persistence of a needy child. I wonder what it would be like to live one day without the burden of my passions and the knowledge that without them I would crumble to dust.  
  
_Emotional._ It's what many have accused me of being, and yet, I have never tried to eradicate my feelings. My sentiments are never far from my face, voice or eyes, no matter how much I bury myself into a role, or try to protect myself from the world around me. Nature is as it does, I suppose, and it is my character to display what resides in my heart.  
  
I set my cup of coffee down and glance over at my partner. He blissfully reads the newspaper, absently sipping from a glass of orange juice. I wonder if his heart is ever weighted down by the halting thoughts of his conscious mind. I can't keep the grin from tugging at my lips as I picture melancholy inserting itself into my best friend's psyche: it's preposterous. He catches my grin, and looks up at me, frowning.  
  
What's so funny?  
  
I clear my throat in mock embarrassment,   
  
He stares at me, disbelief filling his bright eyes: he knows I'm lying. I decide to add insult to injury with a single word and an insincere inflection.  
  
  
  
His brows knit together, as his eyes narrow. His timbre is tinged with annoyance; he knows my amusement is at his expense.  
  
  
  
I look out the window, as much to keep my grin from exasperating Jim, as to examine the view. The mountains and trees roll by me, allowing the blue of the open sky to grip my soul with its majesty. The beauty of the land robs me of my breath, but brings a conviction of why men would give their last full measure of devotion to it. In the morning sunlight, the peaks of the mountain tops cast shadows upon each other, offering endless shades of grey to the mix of blues, greens, browns, oranges and yellows. And held in the view of that moment, I know there is no place on earth as special as the nation which I am sworn to protect.  
  
I realize that my emotions have overtaken me, and I brush away the tears rolling down my cheeks. I want off the train. I want to smell the air, feel the sunlight on my face, and the power of my horse beneath me. It is freedom that I seek. Not the kind that comes from being liberated of oppression, for I am a free man; but rather what comes from within when I return to the wide open spaces of the plains.  
  
I glance back at Jim. He is still engrossed in his paper, the sights gliding gracefully by, seeming not to interest him. I take a slow sip of my coffee, allowing the rich liquid to warm me all the way down to my belly. I've often wondered how two men could be so different in every way, and yet know such success as a team. I am sure that it is our differences which strengthen us, and our similarities that keep us together. I cannot imagine ever being without the man who has become like a brother to me, and yet there are moments I cannot stand remaining in the same room with him.  
  
But I am clear that devastation would wrap me in an endless cloak of despair were I ever to lose him. It is the one constant fear still left to me in this life. Once again, a rush of tears flood my eyes, only this time, Jim notices it.  
  
He reaches an arm across the table, and his hand gently touches my forearm in concern, Artemus, what's wrong?  
  
Embarrassed, I shake my head and wave him off, Nothing, Jim. It's nothing, really. Almost as an after thought, my words continue, I was just thinking.....  
  
The blue eyes flash concern and then calm, You think too much, Artemus. He slaps my arm fairly hard, And when you think too hard, you're too damned emotional. Honestly....  
  
He smiles at me before he returns to his newspaper, and I can't help but grin at him. At times, we drive each other mad, but there is no one else in whom I place my absolute trust and the confidence of my life. There is only Jim. And perhaps that is my melancholy. In my life I have forsaken all else to serve my President and my country. I have given up my private life, the woman who loved me, and my chance to have children; sacrifices boldly given in their moments, but ones that have faded with time. And there is still Jim.  
  
All things must lose their naiveté, their wonder - even the mystery of one's own lament. It is the way of nature, this rise and fall of humanity; as we age, we gain greater insight into our world. And sometimes, we wish we could step back and see without wisdom's clarity, because it's less painful.   
  
Once again I stare out the window at the glory of the unspoiled west. Violent and strong, yet muted and serene; I pray that it never loses its innocence.  
  
The End  
  



End file.
